Dig Two Graves
by Creepy Mae West Kozi
Summary: When seeking revenge, dig two graves - one for yourself. John Wick finds himself in Midnight Texas. When Santino told him that vengeance was all he had, the Italian mobster had no idea how right he was.
1. Chapter 1

_I think you're addicted to it,_ Santino had said. _To the vengeance._

It was worse than that.

 _No wife, no life, no home. Vengeance; it's all you have._

Santino had been far more correct than he had, or would ever had known.

* * *

Winston knew, the moment he saw the empty death mask of John's face, that he wouldn't be able to convince him. It didn't stop him from trying to appeal to Wick's reason, but there was no reasoning with Jonathon when he was this far gone. It was one of his best and worst traits as a member of The Continental.

"I'll kill them. I'll kill them all," John had affirmed, an animal growl and a bottomless emptiness in his eyes.

"Of course, you will," Winston had replied, knowing and wishing otherwise. This outcome was inevitable in some ways. The ranks of the Continental would soon be thinning - hopefully the more intelligent operatives would leave well enough alone.

* * *

"I know what I did," The reverend said sadly, standing up from the ground, Manfred's jacket sliding down his shoulders as Olivia helped him into the church.

"It wasn't your fault. She opened the chains and trespassed."

"Normally a bull is enough to sate me. But last night... it wasn't. There was another. And that worries me."

"Another?"

"Out in the wilds. Body was gone when I went - I would have thought I'd imagined it if it wasn't for the smell. Someone died there."

Olivia did not know what to say to that - offering comfort in words was difficult for her. Instead, she stood next to Emilio, a silent sentinel by his side. She almost wished the sheriff's department bitch was still alive so she could kill her all over again.

* * *

There was a dog following Manfred home. Young and gangly, tongue flopping and tail wagging as it panted behind the psychic with soulful brown eyes.

"Whose are you, huh?" Manfred stooped, holding out a fist for the dog to sniff, slightly cautious. It sniffed his hand once, then slobbered all over his, tail whipping back and forth with joy. "Eurgh! Thanks for that."

The dog panted as it whuffled happily at him. Manfred shrugged, and continued home, stopping by his trailer to see if there was a dish or something he could use to pour out some water for the animal - the Texas heat could not be comfortable.

"Sonny, where did you find _that_ ," his Grandma called up, startling him as she appeared in his blind spot.

He dropped the plastic bowl with a clatter, spinning around with a hand against his heart. "You do that on purpose," he accused the ghost. "What do you mean?"

"The dog. It's got a big residue hanging around it. It hung around something very angry before he followed you home. Should get your new witchy friend to take a look at him."

"Oh?" Manfred narrowed his eyes, trying to see what Xylda was talking about. The dog had started chasing its own tail in front of the porch, spinning for a moment before flopping over onto his side, yapping once before rolling and shimmying around in the dust. And clinging to edges of his _other_ senses he could see that his grandmother was correct. The dog's shadow was too dark and too long for the time of day. Staring at it for more than a few seconds brought a sour feeling to his throat and threatened to return the ache of a migraine.

"...Well, then. I'll water him up, then bring him 'round to Fiji."

* * *

Fiji takes one look at the dog, and drops her tea cup with a crash, breaking the pale-yellow porcelain. "That dog has been hanging around something _awful_ ," she confirms, wide-eyed. "Where did you find him?"

"He followed me home," Manfred deadpans, shrugging when Fiji admonishes his levity with a stern look. "Do you know if he belongs to anyone in town - I didn't see a collar."

Fiji shook her head, dark curls bouncing. "I don't think so. More of a cat-friendly town. Might be a stray or wandered over from Davy."

"I'll give them a call - see if anyone's reported a missing dog," Manfred decided, running a hand through his hair. "Sheriff will just love to hear from me again," he added sarcastically.

"Right," Fiji rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips. "Well, let's get this little guy all cleansed. Whatever was hanging around him is gone now - we just need to give his aura a little scrub. I'll go get my things."

* * *

Night fell, and Manfred was sitting in front of his laptop, answering emails and typing up his online consultations with the dog at his feet. The call to the sheriff's office had turned up no leads on the furry fellow's owner, instead there seemed to be some sort of commotion going on at the station and the desk sergeant had gotten rid of him on the phone so quickly it was almost rude.

Leaning back, he took a look out his window and started. For a moment, he thought he saw a tall figure watching him from the shadows across the street, but when he blinked they were gone.

* * *

Bobo Winthrop was glad to be out of police custody, but still bitter about the lies Audrey had lived under. He was rattled by the experience - the Sons of Lucifer were not known for letting things like this lie now that one of their own had been confirmed the killer by the local police. It was only a matter of time before they showed up to make a point of it with his blood - or at least they would try. While sorting through the thoughts in his head, he was moving things around the pawn shop, going through the inventory and letting the familiarity of the cluttered space calm him. So absorbed in the shop, he didn't notice the stranger standing behind him until they cleared their throat.

"Jesus, make some noise when you walk, willya?! ...You alright there, man," he added, stepping back to get a better look.

"Sorry," the stranger rasped. He was a tall man, pale and bearded with dark hair that hung lankly around his face to his jaw. His eyes were dark and hawkish, watching Bobo with a disconcerting intensity. He was wearing a business suit that had seen better days - it was ripped and torn and stained with dust and grime and what looked like blood. The man looked like he had lost more than one fight, bruised and scraped on his face and neck and what flesh was visible through the tears in his coat. "...I'm looking for Miss Charity," he added. Each word was measured and deliberate as if speaking more than one word at a time took added concentration.

"No offense, man, but you look like you got shat out of a meat-grinder set to high - and I don't know you. I'm not one to give other people's information out to smelly folks that I never met before."

The stranger blinked slowly, considering. "Makes sense. ...I'll wait." And he sat down on one of the overstuffed armchairs dotting the store, the change in posture throwing his face into shadow.

Bobo had to bite back a frustrated groan. Was this guy an idiot? "Better place to wait would be the diner - you should get some food into you." _And the hell away from my shop and into a public place where Lem can keep a creepy blue eye on you,_ he added silently.

"...Too public."

And _that_ sent the mental alarm bells ringing. "Okay then... You just sit there... And I'll go and see..."

The stranger nodded once, but said nothing. The hair on the nape of Bobo's neck stood straight up as the stranger's gaze followed him out of the shop. Hopefully Olivia and Lem would both be at the diner at this time of night. The sooner McCreepy got removed from the pawn shop, the better.

* * *

In the back of the diner, Olivia is eating a plated dinner while Lem watches in fascination. At their table, Manfred and Fiji also sit, regaling them with what happened with the dog earlier in the day, and how something seemed up at the sheriff's office.

"I heard about it from one of the people at the store," Creek chimes in as she plunks a fresh beer in front of Manfred with a smile that quickly turns somber at the new topic. "There was a car bomb at the station in Davy - Sheriff was inside."

The table falls silent. While none of the Midnighters could say they _liked_ the Sheriff, the man had been open-minded enough to follow through on Manfred's psychic help and confirm Bobo's innocence of Audrey's murder. He hadn't deserved an ending like that.

Olivia's frown turned pensive as she chewed her asparagus, Lem leaning into her space with a concerned look. "Not many to gain from something like that. But there are those who will," he adds solemnly, fangs flashing between his lips. He nods across the floor to where a few Sons of Lucifer are seat, guzzling beers and greasy wings with an almost repulsive fervour.

Manfred can't help but gulp slightly at the implications.

The quiet moment is broken by Bobo practically barrelling through the door and making a bee-line for their table, taking a wide berth around the bikers. Olivia sits up straight in her seat, posture almost military - it's not like Bobo to shy from a confrontation, but it seems he's got something more important on his mind than jeering at biker-Nazis. Lem's nostrils flare at the man's approach, and Fiji sneezes - there is a subtle stench hanging around Bobo. It's a smell Manfred has learned to associate with the dead, and more recently, with the dark shadow clinging to _the dog_.

"Olivia," Bobo says in a rush as soon as he reaches the table, not bothering to take a seat. "There's some creepy guy in my shop - _looking for you_. He looks like hell spat him out - and smells like it, too. So, if you could..." He trails off, wiggling his fingers.

Olivia trades a look with Lem, eyebrows raised. "The smell is an accurate summation," the vampire agrees, unsmiling. "I will accompany you."

"Right," Olivia replies shortly, nodding towards Bobo and the others before standing and checking her sidearm is holstered securely. "Lem and I will take care of it."

* * *

Olivia enters the pawn shop first, Lemuel her shadow and backup in reserve if things go south. It's dim and slightly musty as usual, the dark stripe of the stranger hunched over in one of the chairs standing out from the rest of the room. She steps deliberately loud, and the man looks up through a curtain of dark hair.

"Miss Charity," he says slowly. "I'm collecting your favor."

"Holy fuck- John?!"

He barks a humorless laugh, but says nothing.

"Lem, it's fine." She re-holsters her gun, drawn when she had stepped into the store proper. "Just an old friend."


	2. Chapter 2

**Then.**

It was Winston that found John, half-buried in overflowing trash and rotten leaves in a culvert near Central Park. He'd been a younger man then, just beginning to inherit the reigns of the New York Continental branch, and a rare moment of curiosity had found him walking towards the large ragged bundle. Underneath the dirt and the grime and the sodden refuse was a body - a man smeared dark red and grey with matted hair and tattered flesh. But it was the _eyes_ that caught him, not the gore encrusted study of the dead or dying, but the dark apathetic _awareness_ of that gaze trapped his own.

Out of nowhere, the thought struck him that his upcoming ascension would bring him enemies from those beneath the notice of the Hotel and its servitors, as well as from those members that had the foolish temerity to test those rules. A cold fingered hand snaked out from a stripe of shadow as the wounded man was suddenly _there_ , clasping his wrists in long fingered hands like iron manacles. For a moment, everything was still and washed in red film before fading back to normal.

The man was still slumped in the pile of trash. Even more telling that something was amiss - his security detail (disguised as regular park goers, of course) had not reacted at all.

"Your enemies," the stranger rasps. "They will make a good _start._ "

* * *

 **Now.**

"Old friend, am I?" John shakes his head, flecks of grime spitting from his hair. His voice is pitched low, but there is a slight lilt of wry humor. "I assume you've heard," he adds, eyes darting from Olivia's deceptively relaxed posture towards Lemuel's visible arrival opposite and flanking him. He nods minutely in approval at their caution.

"I'd heard you managed to retire. Then I hear you've upset the High Table, and now-?!" Olivia pursed her lips. "You never do things half-way. At least some things are consistent. Why did you come here?"

John watched her carefully, before turning his attention towards Lem's still figure.

"Vampire, right? …And last night, there was a tiger. A were... Midnight hasn't changed much, and it protects its own."

"You are certainly correct," Lemuel replies, stillness replaced with a sinuous and flowing stride as he takes a curious step towards John. "But while we protect our own, you are _not_ one of us."

"...He was sure he killed you," Olivia breathes, recalling her earlier conversation with Emilio. An encounter with a mature weretiger would kill a man with little trouble, even one of John Wick's infamous reputation and skill. Unless, there was something more to it – something that made him a candidate for Midnight's unique community. "...I thought it was just a rumor."

"Oh, I _see_ ," Lem rocked back on his heels, his greater years and experience with the supernatural arriving him at a conclusion. "You're one of _us._ "

* * *

 **Then.**

Winston sat in the hotel restaurant, nursing a strong coffee while the new hire methodically demolished a full breakfast across from him. Cleaned up and dressed in a spare suit, the homeless stranger from the park still managed to look like he was one foot in the grave.

"Explain to me," he began, taking a sip if his beverage to wet his throat before continuing. "What was all that about, hm?"

"I need enemies," Wick stated with a soft intensity, setting down his knife and fork to shift his singular focus from the meal towards the young Winston. "I need a clear purpose in order to function. Yours will do."

Winston sighed, brow furrowing. "Yes, but _why?_ "

The dark-haired man went still, unmoving and unblinking as he seemed to consider his words. He took a quiet breath before speaking. "Because I will _kill them all._ Because that is _what_ I am."

Winston leaned back, eyebrows climbing. " _What_ ," he repeated. "Not, _who_."

Wick nodded, a flash of something in his eyes, but remained silent. Winston's eyes narrowed - he would just have to find out on his own.

* * *

 **Now.**

"Revenant," Lemuel confirmed.

"That's right," Wick replied. "I need to be grounded, Olivia," he elaborated for his fellow assassin's benefit. "The work for the Hotel managed that, Helen managed it - but now… There are too many enemies. I need to shift focus to something smaller before things get out of hand."

 _As if they weren't already –_ Olivia opened her mouth to tell Wick to shove it, favor or no favor. Yes, she owed him for a job gone sour earlier in her career – him covering for her was how she was able to come to live in Midnight in the first place, separate but somehow still adjacent to the structured underworld of the Continental, the High Table, and their subsidiaries. But Lem beat her to the punch, cutting across her unvoiced refusal with a slight bow of his head and a steely toned agreement.

"That would be to everyone's benefit, indeed."

The vampire darted a meaningful look towards Olivia, _I'll explain later._

 _You'd better,_ her returning glance affirmed. Crossing her arms – a move which brought one hand within close drawing distance of a silver edged knife at her side – Olivia took a deep breath before glancing around the shop, belatedly gagging on the stench of Wick's still filthy form.

"Why don't we sort this out after we get you into a shower, yeah?"

Wick looked down at himself, before huffing a humorless and exhausted chuckle. "Yeah."

* * *

 **Later.**

They were back in the diner, huddled around a corner table – Lem, Olivia, Fiji, Manfred, Bobo and a rare appearance from the Reverend and Joe Strong. Creek was waiting tables in the front – it was a busier night than most – and John Wick sat out by the window at his own table with a full course to work his way through while they talked.

"It's dangerous to let him stay here," Olivia began, up front and straightforward as usual. "He's being hunted by a _lot_ of very dangerous people, but for the most part they tend to leave this part of the world alone. With him here, things could get …dicey."

Fiji's eyes kept flicking from the rest of them crowded around the table to where Wick sat and ate, empty and mechanical and somehow wrong to her mystical senses. "What _is_ he? Cleansing the dog this afternoon was…" She makes a face. "So much _hatred_."

"Not hatred," Lem corrected her gently. "Vengeance. Anger. Revenant's are driven by it, they _embody_ it. Revenge propels them and consumes them."

Joe nodded, adding his own two cents. "It's not always evil. They have a goal and a focus – and they cannot rest until it is achieved."

"I've only heard about them," Manfred brought up. "They don't die – even if you destroy them they'll come back until their task is complete. Grandma taught me that there is only two ways to deal with one – either help them accomplish their task, or stay out of the way."

"…Sounds like John," Olivia muttered, taking a long pull from her beer.

"Yeah, well – typically they don't last long because they accomplish their tasks and then die. It's weird that he's trying to find a new task."

"Not as strange as you think," Lemuel added softly. "If his revenge is impossible to accomplish, he'll become _stuck_. He could go mad, or worse. Perhaps he's trying to change his focus to something attainable by taking on the revenge of others. Something I gather Mr. Wick has attempted on more than one occasion. If we can offer that, he'll prove a powerful ally for the trouble ahead."

Bobo nodded slowly. "The First Sons, for one. If they were behind Sheriff Livingston's death last night, then there will be plenty of trouble in the future. Hard cases like those bastards just don't know when to quit."

Joe turned in his seat, the angel considering John Wick's solemn form for a long moment. "I think he deserves a chance."

Emilio nodded, the relief that he had not permanently killed a second person on the full moon almost palpable. "After last night, I would like to offer him that courtesy as well."

"Okay, then," Olivia stated. "Me and Lem don't have room. Bobo's out of places to rent. Where's he gonna stay?"

Fiji was quick to shake her head. "No way. His aura will ruin all my materials. Manfred – his dog already likes you…"

Everyone looked at Manfred expectantly.

"Oh, come _on_."

* * *

Notes: I was originally going to wait for episode 3 of _Midnight, Texas_ to air before writing this up, but then I had the idea of breaking up the conversation and some exposition with some show-not-tell snapshots of the past. Thinking of adding in more of those for chapters that take place between episodes - let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

John walks his dog through the town, feeling out of place and out of time. After being hunted for the last several weeks, it's strange to be out of his suit and dressed instead in borrowed jeans and t-shirt, a windbreaker slung carelessly over his shoulders. In this small town, he's …safe. The dog – still unnamed – walks at his side, a companion that puts a dent in his maudlin mood. The town is calmer than he remembers from the last time he passed through many years ago, the faces different from the glimpses he caught then.

He pauses, looking across the road to where the Reverend's pet cemetery lies, and thinks about how everyone in this town is so… _alive_.

Wistful, he turns back to walk back to where he's been staying in Manfred's small bungalow. "What do you think, boy," he asks his dog in a low tone. "Think it's safe yet?"

The dog's tail wags as it trots along side him. _Kids._

* * *

Creek is shaking her head, slipping on her shoes as she walks out the door, a smile on her lips. Manfred is a sweetie and not so bad between the sheets – a pity she has to hurry home for supper.

 _What happens if you're late? Your dad comes after me with a shotgun?_ Manfred had been joking.

 _Yeah, that's definitely a possibility._ Creek had not been.

Stepping from the porch and around the trailer, she startles as she almost bumps into Midnight's newest resident, Mr. Wick. She flushes – nothing makes a walk of shame more embarrassing than almost running headlong into your partner's housemate.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says softly, the dog at his side watching her with its head tilted curiously. He moves to sit on the porch in a folding chair, the dog following to sit by his side while the quiet man scratches the animal behind the ears.

"…Right," Creek nods, stepping around the corner. "Have a good night, Mr. Wick."

 _Well,_ she thinks, _that was awkward._

* * *

John watches the young woman go, and frowns. He still feels an intruder, an outsider to these people. Manfred has been polite – they all have – but while they know _what_ he is, only Olivia really knows his past. It's a surreal experience to be accepted at face value, to not hear whispers of his own exploits from dark corners, to not see the fear in the eyes of others.

Even Jimmy had feared him sometimes. (Only Helen hadn't. His heart aches with her absence.)

He can hear Manfred inside the house, tidying up. Were he a different man, he might have teased the other as Jimmy had once poked fun at him. But while they share a roof, John doesn't feel entirely welcome. Part of that is the protections Fiji had laid over the home, making it inhospitable to the dead. And while he is a revenant, he is alive enough to pass the warding – but it keeps his guard up.

The distance is only exasperated by Manfred's hesitance with him. It's understandable – the young man is a sensitive psychic, and Wick's hands are anything but clean.

John sighs as the dog rests its head on his knee, whining playfully up at him. He resumes patting it, a small smile tugging its way onto his face. While he's not friendly with any of the locals yet, his focus has begun to shift. "One step at a time," he muses.

* * *

There is a scream.

John bolts upright from where he had started to doze in the chair, giving the dog a terse command. "Stay."

Manfred bolts out the door, running past him as he stands up and follows around the corner where some kind of standoff seems to be taking place against the Midnighters who are crowded around a pale and shivering Creek Lovell, and a group of strangers moving with the lithe grace of predators as they exit a battered coach bus at the end of the road.

"I'm fine," Creek says, but the reverend is quick to refute her, even as Manfred takes up a stance to block her from the newcomers.

"You look scared."

"…I didn't mean to scare anyone," a longhaired man says, eyeing the crowd with a tolerant amusement. "If I knew you were a friend of Lem's-"

" _Everyone_ in Midnight is a friend," the dark-skinned vampire interjects, stony faced and uncompromising.

John moves to stand a little way from the confrontation unfolding, watching the others – vampires, but somehow _lesser_ than Lemuel – as they drift around the bus. He can practically feel the ever-present violence thrumming under his skin in anticipation. Perhaps one day he'll be able to echo Lemuel's assertion with one of his own.

He makes a mental note to talk with Olivia later about armaments.

* * *

They sit in a circle at the church, all present save for Lem and Olivia who are supervising the town's guests. Fiji and Rev. Sheehan are quick to break down the newcomers' weaknesses, just in case. It's a sentiment John appreciates, to prepare for the worst.

"Vampires usually avoid Midnight," Emilio explains. "Lemuel is different – as an energy-draining vampire he can kill other vampires, so they tend to stay away."

 _Good to know_ , John thinks. If he ever gets out of control, perhaps that method might succeed in stopping him.

"So… the question becomes, 'why are they here now?'" Fiji nods at Bobo's question.

"Lem vouched for them, and they say they'll be gone by sunrise… But I don't trust it," the witch frets, looking from one to another.

"They are dangerous," John agrees, speaking up and making the others, save for the reverend, startle. He speaks so seldom that his words (and presence) are something of a surprise. "I've seen their type before – not vampires," he clarifies, "but trouble."

Emilio nods, worried but visibly gratified by the support. "If things go wrong, the town can find refuge here. This place is a Sanctuary, and the vampires will not be able to trespass."

"My house and Manfred's place are also safe," Fiji adds. "I've made them inhospitable to the dead."

The group comes to the decision to prepare – stakes and what silver they can scrounge. Other than sunlight, those are the only weapons that will prove effective.

"…Is everyone in the town…" John trails off, curious, but Bobo is quick on the uptake to understand the revenant's question.

"…In the know? Not exactly. Most are a little aware, but tend to ignore it. But everyone knows to gather here in emergencies, and doesn't ask to many questions about what those emergencies are. Because they know enough to know they don't _want_ to know."

* * *

John slips into the diner, taking a seat in an empty corner and watching the vampires play around at being decent. They say it takes one to know one, and he is self-aware enough to recognize that barely hidden if more literal bloodlust in these people. He's killed more for less reasoning than most, even among killers. But this casual evil that permeates the air – it's enough to send Olivia storming out when the female vampire Pia plays with her emotions, and enough to have the lust for revenge and death within him sit up and take notice.

He toys with the knife sheathed in his pocket. It won't kill them, but he doesn't have to kill them to debilitate them. And Olivia had been kind enough to offer him silver edged armaments.

He's had time to catalogue the faces and most of the names of Zachariah's (the long haired Native American leader of the cover) nest two times over when Olivia and Manfred storm into the room, righteous fury trailing in their wake. What he can hear of the confrontation and ensuing explanation before Lem takes Olivia aside sends John towards a side door, moving to catch Manfred on his way out.

"Manfred."

The psychic jumps. "How are you so sneaky, man? Shit!"

"…Sorry," Wick apologizes. "The girl in the bus – the one they passed of as a groupie. Willing. Do you buy it?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Wick shrugged.

Manfred sighed. "I'm going to ask Xylda for advice – you can tag along… Watch me talk to the air, I guess."

John nods an affirmative and follows. He'll use the stop-off to check on his dog and refill the water dish.

* * *

It's a quick discussion – and strange to watch Manfred talking to someone whom he can neither hear or see. But the young man is kind enough to relay the information he gets from his spectral grandmother.

"…This nest is bad news," he sighs. "Lem is an exception, not the rule. Basically, the odds are high that these guys want to move in and take the town for themselves."

John nods. This confirms his own observations.

"Then we need to prepare." Glancing out the window he sees several figures moving through the street.

"Right," Manfred agrees, worry tinging his tone.

A quick bout of texts and phone calls paints the picture that most, if not all, of the others have had similar trains of thought. Bobo and Fiji are working on making magical sunlight, Olivia's getting out her gear at home, and Creek is able to fire off a quick text telling Manfred to worry less and that she and her brother are building quite the stash of stakes.

They decide to stop off at the hardware store for some stakes of their own.

* * *

Manfred's heading to the check out with a sledgehammer and an armful of garden stakes, John collecting some things from another aisle when the lights cut out. He hears a clatter and a man grunt, even as he slips on the floor and lands in a pool of blood next to the cash. The hardware store owner lies with his throat torn out right in from of him.

"Shit," he curses, scrambling to his feet. "John? You alright-!"

His call is cut off by a bestial snarl as a bald middle-aged looking vampire leaps out of the shadows and pounces, knocking the psychic against the counter. Scrambling and not wanting to die, Manfred reaches for something, _anything_ , to defend himself with. His hand knocks a cup filled with stationary, and before he realizes what his panicked brain has done, he's stuck a pencil in the vampire's pectoral through the thin material of his t-shirt.

The creature backs off slightly, teeth bared, as it looks down at the pencil sticking out of its chest in disbelief.

"…A pencil?" He sneers before advancing with an arrogant crack of his neck. "You got to pierce the heart, pretty boy."

John rounds the corner, the broken haft of a broom in one hand and a scratch on his face in time to watch Manfred brace himself against the counter top and kick upwards, shoving the pencil deeper and exploding the vampire into dust.

"…I guess we have more in common than we thought," he deadpans, lips twitching with dark humor.

Manfred gives himself a shake, open-mouthed and surprised at his own success. "...We need to warn the others."

* * *

Notes: I didn't want to just regurgitate MT's third episode – in part because I'd like to encourage you to watch it and give this new show some support. So, there will be some recap and overlap, but for the most part the scenes of the show take place in-between and around those of this fic. That effing pencil. Manfred can now join the ranks of writing implement weapon wielders. Bwahahaha. This covers the first half of episode 3 – the rest will be resolved with a Then & Now chapter before episode 4 airs. John was bit tricky to pin down. He's the type of character that has a lot to say, but tends not to vocalize it unless cornered. Hopefully we'll be able to see him open up a bit more soon, though I doubt he'll ever be talkative


	4. Chapter 4

**Then.**

The first time Jimmy meets John Wick, he's off duty.

There's a bar just outside Little Russia – an Irish Style Pub, open all hours – and it's Jimmy's favorite watering hole. On alternate Thursdays, sometimes one of the local youngster bands stop by to jam a few songs up on the stage. Sometimes there are trivia nights, or amateur comedy. It's a quiet place, friendly to cops for the most part – and the shepherd's pie is hot and filling on nights when you can't find it in you to cook.

On this night, the tables are filled and the bar is crowded. Jimmy ends up rubbing elbows with the wall on one side and a tall bearded man on the other; dour, sour, and contemplating the bottom of a glass of neat bourbon.

They exchange nods – two men, tired after a long day.

* * *

 **Now.**

The Winnebago tilts dangerously as it careens around the corner, Manfred swearing under his breath as he fights against the steering wheel.

Creek is sitting up front with him in the passenger chair, her younger brother holding on to one of the benches in the back next to her angry father. It is a tense situation, made worse by Mr. Lovell's dislike of Manfred, and the revelation that vampires are real.

"We're almost at the church," Manfred chants to himself as he floors the gas, sending the vehicle down the road. "Aw, fuck-!" He almost spits - up ahead the path to the chapel is blocked by the vampire's bus, and a large group of them are milling about in front of it. They can hear the hissing even over the whine of the Winnebago's taxed motor.

"Change of plans-" Manfred grits out. "We're going to my place."

"Oh my god," Creek gasps lowly, catching sight of something out the side window. "Mr. Wick's out there!"

* * *

 **Then.**

Jimmy meets John Wick's aftermath in that same bar three weeks later. He's taking statements from shaken witnesses beside caution tape and a smashed front window.

"It was crazy, man," one says, hands shaking and eyes wide. "A _fucking pencil-!_ Shit!"

The bar does not reopen.

* * *

 **Now.**

John stops as Manfred's Winnebago slows, and makes sure to visibly shake his head while locking eyes with Creek. He keeps up the stare until he sees her nod, and the vehicle picks up pace again.

The vampires have noticed him, now.

"Hey there, man. You some kind of bum?"

John stares at him in stony silence as the bloodsucker approaches, some others taking the opportunity to sidle closer and begin circling him. The question is understandable - he's wearing the tattered remains of his tactical suit, the collar of its overcoat flipped up high to offer some protection for his neck. He's not sure how well the armor will stand up to their teeth, but presumably better than it performed under a weretiger's claws.

The overcoat also affords him the element of surprise.

A vampire directly behind him lunges at his back, and crumples as its kneecap disintegrates under the impact of a bullet, the gun firing a second time through another's eye in the same moment he pegs the downed one with the sharpened end of a broom handle concealed in the folds of his coat. He gets the second through the heart before the rest realize what he's doing and they tackle him in a flurry of blows and hissing snarls too fast for him to match. He's near enough to human to be out matched by the creatures' base abilities, but a grim expression twists his features from an impassive mask and into a triumphant snarl.

In a battle of attrition, he always wins.

* * *

 **Then.**

Jimmy's introduction to the underworld of the police involves a cop on the take, a mob hit gone wrong, and a potted plant. (He will never look at ferns the same way.) Before the sheer unbelievability of the previous twenty-four hours can sink in, he finds himself being pulled aside by his supervisor in the precinct, and being given _The Talk_.

It boils down to two key points. One – _mutual non-interference_. The Underworld stays clear of police and civilians, and the police stay clear of underworld business. (Gangsters and organized crime are still fair game – they weave their criminal webs around the lives of those the police serve and protect. But when they fight amongst each other, policy is to stand back and let those chips land where they may.)

The second point is less official, and a recent localized addendum. _Stay out of John Wick's way_.

Jimmy is shown a photograph of a man with dead eyes and recalls a sad stranger trying to find meaning in the bottom of a glass.

* * *

 **Now.**

John lies slumped against the side of one of the low red-brick buildings scattered up the main road, a dark streak of blood leading from the middle of the street. He's missing an eye, and half of his face sits torn and loose over his skull where a vampire's claws had raked across.

He'd been out of bullets by then, the stake he brought reduced to splinters and tossed aside. He had to pin the vampire down after dislocating both of its arms and knees, before twisting its screaming head clear off. It had taken more than he'd anticipated out of him – fortunately the remaining leeches had taken that act as their cue to retreat and regroup.

(A stake to the heart wasn't the only way to kill them, despite what Fiji had said. Most things needed their head attached to function, and vampires prove no different.)

Down the street towards the chapel, there is a flutter if wings somewhere above him and a bright flash of light. It's warm, the glow of the sun in the middle of the night.

The anguished screams and smell of charred flesh on the night wind brought him some peace of mind as his sorry state sent him into unconsciousness – it seemed the sun-crystal plan had worked.

* * *

 **Then.**

It's coincidence (or maybe bad luck, Jimmy thinks) that starts putting the beat cop in and around areas where Wick has swept through like a force of nature. He calms witnesses, takes statements, and gains fifteen pounds in donuts and cheap coffee. Later, he starts to think it's by _design_. Perhaps by having a man on the street 'in-the-know' it keeps others from bumbling well-meaning nose first into the pointy end of a deadly pencil.

…That case still gets to him sometimes – the shepherd's pie had been _really_ good.

It's a car accident that puts him face to face with Wick for the second time. It's surreal, Jimmy scribbling down this underworld boogeyman's implacable commentary of events as a paramedic bandages the cuts on his stoic face. A true coincidence – apparently Wick had been grocery shopping when the elderly driver had a stroke, lost control of his vehicle, and slammed his sedan through the front door of the shop. Even hitmen need to eat – who knew?

Jimmy's heart practically stops in his chest when Wick blinks slowly after his almost robotic recitation and tilts his head in recognition. "We've met before."

* * *

 **Now.**

"Oh dear," Joe sighs, as he comes across John Wick's body.

The reverent had fought and fought hard to buy them all as much time as possible – the distraction John had provided had done well in enabling many of the townspeople to reach the safety of the church without incident.

"Were you anyone else," Joe grimaced, shaking his head sadly, "you'd be dead."

Wick's broken body twitches, and both eyes flutter open to latch onto Joe who crouches down to meet the mangled man's gaze.

"...Plan... worked?"

"Yes. Thank you, John Wick," Joe states solemnly as he reaches to help the other man to his feet. "The time you bought made the difference for more than a few families."

Wick doesn't reply, though the ravaged man's step comes easier, and he slowly begins to mend. He bares his bloodied teeth in what passes for a smile.

* * *

 **Then.**

It's an odd friendship.

Most everyone Wick knows are affiliated with the Underworld in some way, or with organized crime. Somehow, after a string of meetings continues to pile up, Jimmy the cop and John the boogeyman become friends.

John suspects Winston's well-meaning manipulative fingers behind it.

They talk football and beer (bourbon for John – the man's taste is _very_ specific) and cars.

It's surreal, but somehow natural.

Jimmy tugs at the collar of his tuxedo. Of all the things, he never figured John to get married. Even less, for him to end up as his best man.

"Shit, man," Jimmy sighs. "How am I more nervous about your wedding than _you_ are? It's just not fair."

John smiles – since Helen, John has been actually _smiling_ , which is something that still freaks Jimmy out – and shrugs. "Just lucky, I guess."

* * *

 **Later.**

When dawn comes there is a tangible sweeping of relief through the town. There is time taken to tend the wounded and bury the dead. John takes the full day and the following night to recover.

Joe thinks on his conversation with Emilio.

 _I'm fallen_ , he had said. _I come to you as a neighbor and a friend._

 _And I,_ Reverend Sheehan had told him, patiently. _Will listen to you as a reverend, hear your confession and keep your secret._

Now, after Manfred has proven himself in the face of adversity; after John has fought to the death to protect the town; and after each of the Midnighters has pulled together to survive and win in the face of evil... he feels guilty. The veil between realms that runs through Midnight is fraying, and soon all hell will be breaking loose. He knows this because he had seen it before; Chuy, his husband, also knows.

Now, the reverend knows... as well as Joe's intentions to flee when things go bad.

 _I'm fallen_ , he had said. He wishes he had the courage these people do, to fight. To stay. But the weight of that burden is only lightened by the strength the town has shown, even as it is weighed further by his own selfishness. However small it may be, he's starting to have some hope.

Perhaps they will survive, after all.

* * *

Notes: This concludes episode 3 of the show. Some things I did not touch on - Lemuel's past is just one of them. Please let me know if it feels like there's some missing moments - I wrote most of this on the train while really tired.

There is a small skip between this chapter and the last - during the events of the show Creek was away from her phone when the call to gather at the church went out. Manfred drove over to her house to fetch her and her family. Her dad was being difficult because he's not one of the Midnighter's in the know, and hates Manfred on principle so Manfred knocked him out to bring him along. So that's why they're all driving together.


End file.
